


Me, with all my sins; who could I go to?

by theLadyLazaruss



Series: The Coda Continum [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Can they do the Do already?, Canon Will Graham, Coda, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, No two bits about it, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sheesh, The boy is dark Mary, Top Will Graham, Vulnerable Hannibal Lecter, Vulnerable Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, or as i like to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLadyLazaruss/pseuds/theLadyLazaruss
Summary: Will Graham beat Randal Tier to death, that much he was sure of. He wasn't sure of much else.Only that he wanted Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: The Coda Continum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663306
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	Me, with all my sins; who could I go to?

**Author's Note:**

> You come, you comment!  
> I don't make the rules.

The body was heavy. The struggle almost offended him, triggering an irrational anger, as he fought against it and gravity to get it into the trunk of his car. He groused and swore, until his hand scrunched the soft cartilage of its bloodied, broken face. Bone and meat were left, where there used to be light, and air and colour.

Randall Tier had not died nicely.

With a final straining heave, Will Graham shoved the saggy legs and they landed with a _thunk_. He slammed the trunk shut. Steam huffed into his face and past his ears. He stood a moment, in the low mist, like ocean waves, that engulfed his house. You would never know he murdered a man here. There was no sparkling glass left. Through the taped butcher’s paper over the missing window, a mechanical shadow crouched. His dogs were hidden and silent.

Will got into his car and drove.

There was no plan. His thoughts dreamed, drifted between reality and surreal. He had experienced the act itself with chilling clarity, shapes too sharp, limbs too slow, but now? Now it all bled together.

The beast crashed through his window as he felt gentle hands against his face. The hard wall knocked the wind from his lungs as a tongue fed itself between his lips. There were antlers in his hands, metal against his fists, the give of a tummy, wet sloppy heat, a shattered skull, streaming tears–

Hannibal’s powerful voice, fragile and broken, whimpering his name.

He pulled off the road, swerved over dirt track, the car fought against him, its back wheels swung, but he gritted his teeth and held it, tapped at the brakes and guided the car to a jerky stop. His hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel.

What the fuck was he playing at?

Will stomped out of the car. Millipedes laid hiking tracks up and down his arms and the backs of his thighs and he scrubbed at them, shooing the sensation away.

He had a dead body in his trunk. He was speeding down a highway, towards Baltimore, in the middle of the night, with a dead body in his trunk. Hannibal made it all seem so easy. Made it all seem so sacred.

But there was nothing sacred about butchering that boy. Nothing fine or beautiful. Will still had the stench of faeces in his nose.

What was he doing?

Along the lonely highway, a lamp few and far between, the dark wind kissed Will Graham’s blushed cheeks. The galaxy streamed, horizon to horizon. There was no other sound but his heartbeat, and a distant wail.

Randall Tier would have killed him. He would have opened those prehistoric jaws, chewed his way inside Will’s still churning guts and left his minced meat to rot. Will couldn’t even guess when he would be found. Or how much of him would be left to find once his dogs grew hungry. Would Hannibal come searching from him?

Yes. Hannibal would search for him and Hannibal would find him. And Hannibal would mourn him.

It was a heady sensation, like slow moving water.

If Hannibal found him as stale, chewed mincemeat, it would reach inside the deep dark behind those blood-stained eyes, and it would shred any dregs of humanity left in him. Because only Randal Tier believed he was going to kill Will Graham. Only Randal Tier trusted Hannibal to protect him. Will knew far better; Hannibal could be trusted to foster your greatest potential, your zenith of achievements. Randal Tier believed his greatest achievement was living as a beast, but they, Hannibal and Will, knew it was dying like one.

No one is ever born in their best and purest state, but second best was dying in it. By killing him, Will fulfilled him, and he knew Hannibal thought the same.

Hannibal.

Will got back into his car and drove.

He wanted him. He wanted him so much he could hardly stand it sometimes. He would be brushing his teeth, walking his dogs, trying to fervently jerk off beneath his sheets, and Hannibal would be there, in quiet domesticity, drinking the same water, breathing the same chilled air, indulging the same hungers. They were beginning to blur, but Will wasn’t ready to admit that. Not yet.

Will parked in an alleyway behind Hannibal’s house, and used a bolt cutter on the back gate. He dragged the body through the clipped grass and the unlocked door. He entered the dining room. The long table waited, and so did Will. He didn’t have to wait long.

One of the double doors opened. Hannibal stepped through it, and he gazed down the long sprawl of the new centrepiece, up the sharp cut Will’s coat, and to his eyes. He smiled, and it was unmistakably fond.

It had taken Will a long time to move after snapping Randall Tier’s neck, longer to patch his window, even longer to drive here, and in all those long stretches of time, he hadn’t thought of what he was going to say, when he finally saw Hannibal.

“I’d say this makes us even. I sent someone to kill you, you sent someone to kill me.” Will’s mouth twitched, an in-joke only they knew. “Even Steven.”

Hannibal politely dipped his head. “Consider it an act of reciprocity.”

 _Hannibal, prowling on the floor, suit blown open, eyes hungry_. Will swallowed.

“One positive action,” Hannibal continued, “begets another.”

“Polite society normally puts such taboos on taking a life.”

Hannibal blinked slowly, and stepped properly into the room, to Will’s side. “Without death, we would be at a loss. It’s the prospect of death that drives us to greatness.” He cupped Will’s damaged hands. “Did you kill him with your hands?”

 _Pain in his knees from the drop. The smack of meat on metal_. _The crack of thick bone._

“It was…”

_The gentle press of lips against his neck, warmth against his cheek and back, cool water over his lips._

“…intimate.”

“It deserves intimacy. You were Randall Tier’s final enemy.”

Will let himself be guided into dining chair, the closest one to him, the head of the table, and listened as if underwater to Hannibal as he moved about his kitchen. He returned with a porcelain dish filled with warm, dusty water. As Hannibal put Will’s hand under the water, the Epsom salt drew across his throbbing knuckles and bled the swelling. The water turned pink from the rehydrated blood. Who’s blood it was, Will couldn’t be sure. Mostly his, he guessed. Mostly his, and some of it animal.

“Don’t go inside, Will,” Hannibal said, as he drew out Will’s hand, and patted it dry with a cloud-soft flannel. “You’ll want to retreat, you’ll want it as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train.”

Hannibal thumbed ointment over the open sores, feather soft and metronomic. Bandages came next.

“Stay with me.”

Will’s eyes had closed and he was breathing like he was already asleep. He felt as tired as an old grave. “Where else would I go?”

“You have everywhere to go, as long as you buttress your mind against deterring forces, like guilt." He was still holding Will’s hands. “You should be quite pleased. I am.”

Will huffed rudely. “Of course you are.”

If Hannibal was offended, he hid it well, but Will felt a ripple pass through the doctor, something indescribable. “When you were killing Randal, did you fantasise you were killing me?”

“Yes.”

Hannibal smiled. He brought Will’s hands to his face and kissed them and spoke into the bandages. “Most of what we do, most of what we believe, is motivated by death.”

Will found himself slumped, far closer to Hannibal than he’d intended. Most of his body weight was held by the doctor’s side, his head on the hard curve of his shoulder. When he lifted his chin, Hannibal turned to accommodate him, and his mouth was, once again, against Hannibal’s throat. Most of his marks had faded, and Will wanted to make more. He sighed over one, a lower one, that still cast a shadow, at the very edge of Hannibal’s shirt collar. Hannibal shivered beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve felt more alive than when I was killing him.”

Hannibal closed his eyes, moistened his lips and then dipped his head. Their noses touched, and the intimacy was striking.

“Then you owe Randal Tier a debt,” Hannibal murmured. “How will you repay him?”

Images of a ghastly, sublime scene teased the edge of Will’s hazy consciousness, but he couldn’t grasp them. They slipped through his fingers like smoke, and Will had the sudden urge to cry.

“Think of it tomorrow, Will,” Hannibal said, gently, and slid a powerful arm beneath Will’s back. “Randall will wait for you.”

Will could only grasp Hannibal’s shoulders as he was lifted smoothly into the air, held like a bride. Hannibal’s shoulders were so broad and strong. Will slipped his hands up his collar bone and felt the warm muscles shift beneath his hands. It was so incredibly human. Hannibal was everywhere, his scent sunk into Will’s clothes and his hair. Will buried his face into Hannibal’s neck and drunk it from the source.

The world tilted in slow motion and a goose down bed caught his slow descent. Will groaned, he couldn’t help it, as his joints and muscles cracked and jerked from the embrace of a decadent mattress. The sheets smelt of Hannibal too.

Hannibal made a disapproving noise and his hands stripped Will with practised efficiency.

 _All those years stripping dead bodies,_ Will thought.

“You must invest in a better mattress, Will. It would do wonders for your sleep, and for your body.”

Will smiled and thought of Hannibal’s silkie chicken broth. He was tired enough that the memory didn’t feel like knives in his heart. _Fussy mother hen_

“I’ll put it on the list.”

Hannibal plucked a sock from his foot. “Right at the top. It is an urgent priority.”

_An urgent priority._

Will glanced at his own crotch, where his cock had thickened with a distracting warmth. Each breath brought another rush of Hannibal into his lungs, another phantom taste, another ghostly touch; not the gentle juggling of weight that readied him for bed, but the lingering, indulgent and greedy swipes of his palms and sharp fingers. His hand tugged lazily at his shaft. He didn’t know when he’d began doing it. It took so much effort, and Will looked up, eyes hooded.

Hannibal was smiling, with a touch too much teeth. “Would you like some help, Will?”

Will exhaled as if to blow away the ceiling. “Yes, Dr. Lecter. I want you to help me.”

Hannibal climbed onto the bed, a little hastily if you asked Will, and smoothed his hands down Will’s thighs. He opened Will’s legs and devoured him in sweeping looks. Will caught his eye, and then deliberately looked away, up at the ceiling, and tucked a hand beneath the pillow.

Hannibal hesitated, and then slid his hands under Will’s arse and massaged the plump cheeks with restless desire. He rolled the jut of his palm into tense muscles. Will could feel him trembling, and he closed his eyes with the first pass of a hot tongue on his cockhead.

Hannibal sucked him with worship. His tongue swirled and his cheeks hallowed in gradual rolls. Nothing else existed outside their quiet hush, outside the furnace of pleasure that roiled inside Will. Bit by bit, pieces of his body sunk into the goose down, to the same rhythm and cadence of Hannibal’s bobbing head. Hannibal’s hair had fallen into his face, and Will wanted to run his hand through it, hold it up from Hannibal’s eyes so he could see the hunger there, but his arm refused, heavy as an anvil by his side. Instead, aided by Hannibal’s crowding, he lifted his knees and his legs fell open. He felt exposed, stripped back and raw, and he squirmed.

Hannibal’s fingers sunk deeper into the cushion of his arse and sped up. The slurps were loud in the dark hush, and no matter how hard Will tried, he couldn’t staunch the bitten off moans and tired sighs. He squirmed more and kneaded his feet in pleasure. His hips bucked weakly, no strength in them. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to come. He didn’t care in what order.

“H–Hannibal.”

Hannibal didn’t stop, but he raised his chin, slurped his tongue like the curve of a dessert spoon and stared up at Will like he had hung the stars.

“Hannibal, please.”

Hannibal closed a hand around the root of his shaft and _squeezed_ , slurping upwards and off _._ Will’s cry cracked against the ceiling and Hannibal’s hand quickly sped itself into a blur. His tongue lapped jerky circles over his slit and slid hard flicks up the underside of his cockhead. Will went from halfway decadence to a throttling rise. His body jolted and rolled and undulated, with no rhyme or reason, no conscious thought, reacting purely on instinct to the whips of forcible pleasure that cranked inside his gut and brain as if shoved inside him with teeth.

“Oh fuck, Hannibal, oh god, oh god, oh–”

Hannibal bubbled his precum around his vocal chords with a purr, and palmed Will’s balls, and wiggled his cockhead between the pad of his tongue and bone of his palate, still fiercely sucking–

Will moaned and it vibrated inside the pores of his skin. It began in his belly, curled against his toes, and rolled upwards through his chest and neck and then out his ears, cast wide and high to heaven.

Hannibal’s eyes fluttered closed and clamped Will’s spasming cock with his mouth, whilst still working the root of him and his balls between his hands. Will poured more come this time, as if he’d abstained from coming in Hannibal’s absence. _Or failed to_ , a devilish voice whispered to him. He kept sucking, and swallowed every last drop, until, with reluctance, he released Will’s softened cock and gently placed it down.

The room was quiet again, with only the soft hush of sleepy breathes.

As slowly as he could, Hannibal bent his head to the joint of Will’s thigh and inhaled deeply through his nose and open mouth. Like tasting wine, a scent must be savoured. It must be allowed to develop naturally. Hannibal considered himself a connoisseur of mundane, base human scents. They were invaluably useful and no more interesting to him than sniffing the inside a cattle cart, but even after a thousand lungfuls, Will’s scent still brought him immense delight. It was rich and layered, and clung to the insides of his nose long after Will had left him. He revisited it often in his memory palace. It enriched every bite of his dinner.

Will ornery and prickly? Charming. Will soft and trusting? Stunning. Will trembling with anxiety? Titillating. Will wrathful and cruel? Awe–inspiring. But Will in the aftermath of orgasm was sustenance itself, and Hannibal was a starving pilgrim.

Hannibal pulled another lung bursting feast, and then moved away. Will was easy and lax under his hands as he moved him under the covers. Hannibal caught himself tucking the duvet into the crook of Will’s neck and hips, and he smiled, quiet and soft. He was so taken by Will Graham. Taken by his joy and glorious his rage; by his self-imposed gloom and wicked cruelty.

Hannibal stroked his sweaty curls, righting a couple of wayward crests so they fell around his face like a chocolate crown. Will was so peaceful in sleep.

“Are you done?”

Hannibal froze for a fraction of a second. He instantly relaxed but he knew he had been caught. Will opened his eyes and stared into him, arresting every thought inside his mind.

“Because I would like you to lay beside me, Hannibal.”

“Of course, Will,” he whispered. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Hannibal left the bedroom for the en suite. He pretended he wasn’t fleeing (because Dr Hannibal Lecter did not _flee_ , not from _anything_ ), stripped and laid his clothes in long folds for tomorrow’s dry cleaning. With his thumbs in his bulging silk boxers, he realised his sleeping clothes were still in the bedroom.

There was a polite knock at the en suite door.

“Will?”

Will opened the door. He had a pair of Hannibal’s underwear on, in deep mauve silk. They were a little too big for him, and hung from his thighs, low under the shadow of his hips.

“Uh, Hannibal?”

Hannibal looked up, and finally took the offered sleeping trousers.

“How considerate, thank you, Will.”

Will leant against the door frame, expectant, and watched as Hannibal pulled off his boxers and slipped the soft cotton trousers over his thickened cock. Hannibal willed it to soften.

“You could have changed in your bedroom, Hannibal.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Will stepped into the bathroom and Hannibal had the most absurd sensation of being crowded. He planted his feet and didn’t budge an inch as Will drew close.

“This is a first for you. All this.”

Hannibal jutted his chin. “It used to be customary for social groups to hunt and provide and soothe each other.”

Will ran his fingers through the low hang of Hannibal’s fringe, his fingertips peppered Hannibal’s brow, and slid back to cup the iron of his temple. “Does this feel customary to you?”

Hannibal moistened his lip. A thousand responses spun through his mind and under the swell of his tongue. Will kept staring up at him, and Hannibal knew a clever retort wasn’t what Will was looking for. Answer wrongly now, and he stood to lose all of this. It scared him more than he could admit. Hannibal shook his head.

Will only maintained his unwavering stare, his thumb absently stroked. It was distracting. Hannibal didn’t know if he’d said the right thing.

“I’m tired,” Will said. He leant forward and tilted his head back to languidly slide their lips together in a wet and tender kiss.

Hannibal exhaled and closed his eyes. He caught Will’s narrow waist, and cupped Will’s hand with his own, laced their fingers together, and allowed his mind to clear, allowed his mouth and tongue to speak for him.

“To bed then,” he murmured, directly onto Will’s tongue, “my dear, Will.”

“Wait.”

Hannibal froze. Will cupped Hannibal’s chest and squished his pectorals up so they sat plump in his hands. His thumbs worked concentric circles.

Will’s fascination with his chest hair delightfully amused him. Was he self-conscious of his own sparse chest? Will only a delicate ring of hair around each nipple. Maybe Hannibal’s chest was a bit of a shock to him. Surely Will had seen men’s chest before. Perhaps his profiler had always wanted to touch and was only now presented with the opportunity. Maybe it was instinct; the innate desire to touch breasts still firing.

Will’s fingers pinched Hannibal’s nipple and he flinched.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Will muttered, and pinched them again, glancing downwards. His tongue peaked out and moistened his lips. It was a low-grade torture.

“I thought you said you were tired, Will.”

“I am, but…” he watched Hannibal fight against reaction, but even his meticulous monster was weak to pleasure. Weak to pleasure given by Will, in any case. “I want to watch you come.”

Hannibal’s canines sunk into his slick lip and he grabbed Will’s hips. He didn’t detach him, and he didn’t move him closer, he merely held him, and shivered under his touch. His cock twitched. The spot on his crotch darkened.

“Like this?” Hannibal strained.

“On the bed.” Will turned abruptly and didn’t check to see if Hannibal followed; he knew he was. Exhaustion tugged at Will’s edges, the compulsion to drift away almost overwhelming as he sprawled back onto the bed, face first into the pillow, but the heat of watchful eyes prickled across his nape and the knobs of his spine. He turned his face back out into the bedroom.

Hannibal stood in open space, fists clenched by his thighs, eyes glued on Will’s lower back. Will’s cheeks flushed. Without thinking, he raised his hips, just a little. It accentuated the curve of his back. A shadow passed over Hannibal’s face.

Will held out a hand. “Come here, Hannibal.”

The doctor blinked, like a camera lens, and silently approached the bed. His fingers fluttered like butterfly kisses over the back of Will’s offered hand, and the delicate touch drew a sigh from his lips. Those gentle hands swept down Will’s back. Thumbs encouraged his arch and lifted his hips from the bed. Will could hear his breathing, short and bitten. Anticipating. It kicked up a notch when Hannibal slipped his fingers into his waistband.

 _Hannibal’s_ waistband. He was wearing Hannibal’s underwear. How the doctor wasn’t constantly stiff, Will could never guess; the passing silk felt like soft mouths against his cock and cheeks.

Hannibal took his time unveiling Will. He drank in all the newly revealed skin and tucked a pillow beneath Will’s hips, to keep the man’s hips aloft and keep the easy access to his slowly fattening cock. With the mauve silk around Will’s knees, Hannibal bowed, and ran his tongue up the swell of Will’s testicles.

Will jumped. His trapped legs tried to kick, but Hannibal held him firm. His fingers dug divots into his thighs, only hard enough to corral, not to bruise. Hannibal pressed his smirk into Will’s taint and fattened his tongue.

“Christ, _Hannibal_ ,” Will snarled.

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal exaggerated the sibilant on the ‘yes’ and immensely enjoyed Will’s squirms.

“Get on with it, or I will _leave_.”

His lover was so cruel. Hannibal swirled his tongue over Will’s hole, forcefully massaging all those tender, undiscovered nerves as he tore the silk free from his legs. Will’s feet thundered against the bed. He tried to flatten his hips, move away, but between the pillow and Hannibal’s hands, he was held fast. His body took the onslaught like a bow across strings, and his voice made such sweet music.

Hannibal replaced his tongue with a thumb and mimicked the same motion of his tongue whilst he groped inside the beside drawer. Will heard the _snick_ of a cap and then two fingers were slowly sinking inside him. He strangled a moan. The slide was decadently slick.

“How are you feeling, Will?”

How was he feeling? Surrounded by goose down, a bone deep ache in his knuckles and back, pleasure humming beneath his skin like bass note, plucked by those two thick fingers…

Will wanted Hannibal to fuck him. He wanted him to pin him to this ridiculous bed and _ruin_ him but…

“Tired,” Will sighed. He cringed and buried his face into the pillow, but Hannibal’s gentle hands turned him over. Will fell into another sprawl, this time on his back. Hannibal loomed above him, settled between his knees.

“ _Mylimasis_ ,” Hannibal cupped his cheek, “can you see from here?”

Oh. _Oh._

Will looked down, between their bodies, to Hannibal’s deft hand. Hannibal’s lubed fingers were curled around his cock, ready to begin. They waited for his permission. Wasn’t that a heady feeling? Will nodded, and completely relaxed back into the bed as Hannibal began.

In their quiet hush, Hannibal began slow. He massaged his length and pinched the foreskin over his cockhead like he had all the time in the world. Will arched. He felt exposed. Stripped back. Slutty. Hannibal’s eyes on him that drunk the expanse of his skin like fine wine.

Will felt his hunger, felt his deep and dark desires, almost as if they were own. He wondered what his skin would feel like, peeled back. What the red flesh beneath would feel like. How his organs would pulse. How they would sizzle in a crockpot. How they would taste, bursting with butter and sweet sugar…

Will grabbed Hannibal neck and yanked him down for a sloppy kiss. Hannibal’s hand never stopped. It jerked with pulsating strokes, in time with his tongue inside Will’s mouth.

“I see you,” Will whispered, and he spoke from the kaleidoscope inside his mind. _Is this what Oracles felt like?_

Hannibal made a subvocal whine.

“I see what you want, how you want to consume me. It’s okay, Hannibal. I think I would be delicious.”

Hannibal grunted, ground against Will’s hips, and left a silver trail of precum against his skin.

“I almost want you to… how would those teeth feel, I wonder?”

“ _…Will_ ”

“How would they feel, if you lost control? How would they feel if you sunk them into my heart, and ate it out of my chest?”

Hannibal shoved Will into the mattress, a wide hand on his neck, his strong fingers pinched against free-flowing blood, hand a blur between them. Will didn’t fear. He grinned, crookedly, flashing his teeth, and watched as the armour inside Hannibal’s blood-stained eyes _gave_.

The person-suit shattered like fine porcelain. It revealed the tender abyss behind it. All of it squirmed in ecstasy, all for Will. With aching fondness, Will brought his hands up, and stroked Hannibal’s chest.

 _I want to feel you_ , his possessive touch demanded. _I want it all._

Hannibal’s cum splattered hot over Will’s stomach, his teeth gleamed in the low light, and he released Will’s throat and fell forward, hand still working himself through the aftershocks. Will stroked his back as he shuddered and writhed, and cooed into his ear.

“That’s it, Hannibal,” Will murmured sweetly, “that’s it. How good does it feel? How good is it?”

Hannibal shook his head, unable to answer, but Will didn’t care. He didn’t need to answer.

Will held him, clutched him close. Even when Hannibal tried to roll off, Will held him fast.

“Stay with me,” he said. “Stay with me. Right here.”

And, gracious Readers, how could Hannibal disobey?

He slumped over Will, embraced by Will's arms and legs, his head buried into his throat, and he fell into sleep like a stone through a slow moving current.

**Author's Note:**

> Got it in one this time, girls *whoopwhoop*


End file.
